


The Little Things That Give You Away

by justtopostmyfic



Category: Penn & Teller RPF
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Muteness, off-duty magicians, selectively mute Teller which simply means Teller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 13:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justtopostmyfic/pseuds/justtopostmyfic
Summary: Penn waxes tenderly about Teller, but only in his head.After all, they do not have a cuddly relationship.(Bonus bit at the end: There is no doubt about who wears the pants in this relationship. And Penn doesn't fit into those short pant legs.)His golden voice, resonant with childlike glee yet intelligent surety, that Teller selectively unleashes only for him. Penn feels like King Kong on cocaine every single time that happens. (He is not and has never done either.)Set during their travels for the Magic & Mystery Tour docu-series. (https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=lVNBLnQy71M&t=830s)





	The Little Things That Give You Away

**Author's Note:**

> _"The little things that give you away /_  
The words you cannot say /  
Your big mouth in the way."  
\- U2

Teller tucks his sleepy face against the hollow of Penn's neck. Moments ago, his compact body has surreptitiously molded against Penn's much broader torso in the cramped train cabin. Penn's arm instinctively wraps around the narrow shoulders to secure the smaller man against himself. When there are cameras around, he resists this urge, but now he doesn't have to.

It's not being cuddly, it's a natural fit. (The image of nesting dolls comes to his mind.) And who knows if this rickety train might suddenly fling a dozing Teller against the other side of the cabin? What he is doing, Penn reasons to himself, is necessity. Like putting on a seat belt. Around very precious cargo.

Penn leans down over and presses a smooch to that familiar smooth, high forehead. He can't reason this action away so easily, and he doesn't want to — because at that moment Teller's face splits into his usual broad grin. The one that spreads across his entire cheeks and lights up his whole face. Fuck, that's cheesy. Except this time Penn feels the grin against his throat, rather than sees it. Much better, if he can't have it both ways.

"Look Penn! It's the same emergency stop cord we saw in that other train!" Teller delights, sounding surprisingly coherent for someone about to fall asleep. But rarely does Teller ever speak without clarity of his thoughts and tone.

His golden voice, resonant with childlike glee yet intelligent surety, that Teller selectively unleashes only for him. Penn feels like King Kong on cocaine every single time that happens. It's more thrilling than the rousing applause they get on Letterman. And that's saying something because they both live for applause, no shame in admitting that, probably Penn himself moreso. He is enough self-described carny trash for the both of them.

Wait, hold that thought — his biggest thrill, come to think of it, is when Teller goes fully silent and stares up at him adoringly. Especially when they are both standing, and Teller has to crane his neck up nearly a whole foot.

The way Teller flips a switch from confidently navigating the unfamiliar sights on their travels, to become verbally dependent on Penn to articulate his every thought and every action. It's surreal and such a damn turn-on, because Teller is capable, and independent, and more than a life force of his own. Someone who is more eloquent than Penn himself, and more learned.

Penn hates puppets, except when Teller chooses to play one. (His and his alone.) The most intelligent and thoughtful man he has ever known, and he gets to speak for them both.

Penn feels a sense of calm when he clutches Teller against his chest. Teller has always brought out the tranquility in him. Sometimes, like periodically right now, Teller exhales palpably, like a full body sigh as though he is weary to the bone. Frankly, it is adorable to Penn. It reminds him of their inflatable Teller doll prop as it slowly deflates. (Comedically on stage with the doll, peacefully here with the real Teller.)

He tightens his arms ever so slightly; never enough to restrict Teller's movements or occasional expansive breaths, but just enough that he hopes Teller feels... secure.

Teller slumps down in his hold as the train ride wears on, head pillowed comfortably in his lap now. The smaller man is still congested, his breaths rattling in his ribcage, and he didn't sleep well last night. Penn knows this because — of course he knows this.

Teller coughs dry, painful sounding hacks in the chilly air. The coughs are halfway muffled into Penn's knee, and Penn finds himself not minding that. It worries Penn though, when Teller starts grasping at his throat with his slim hands as the hacking grows more ragged.

Penn taps Teller gently on his back, relieved and encouraged when Teller relaxes his prone form and the hacking smooths out.

He secretly fears seeing Teller in pain or suffering if it's not on stage during a bit. Teller has always had a high tolerance for the uncomfortable, and anything other than (what Penn knows is) a theatrical grimace is rare and unwelcome.

To see genuine discomfort in Teller's face or tight posture is... Discomfiting to Penn himself. "This is my partner Teller," Penn smoothly declares every night on stage. Teller is a part of him, an extension of Penn himself. Probably his better half, but Penn is not ready to admit that yet.

Penn doesn't let up in patting Teller's back even as the coughs slow down and he falls back into a fitful doze. He wants to continue doing this because... screw it— there is no one else around and Teller will not remember this tomorrow anyway. (He doesn't have to rationalize everything in the sanctuary of his own mind. Right?)

This is a Teller with no coins or balls or implements loaded, no preparations, not even any pockets in his sweatshirt. Teller who is not coughing for misdirection or simulation, but because he is really trying to clear his airways. This man at his most vulnerable and naked, despite them being fully clothed in the frigid rumbling train. A Teller that is his, and almost his alone, to (be)hold.

Behold. Such a funny word, meaning to see and touch and take delight in. And Penn gets to do all of that.

More of Penn's introspection (present day):

He _knows_ he is a gifted and practiced raconteur. That's not bragging, there are decades of orating a headliner stage show to back that up.

He also knows however, that Teller is more convincing to him than vice versa, articulating his thoughts in that unflappable, measured and deliberate way of his. And Teller never raises his voice above its normal volume, because he doesn't have to. He is quietly commanding in a way Penn could never be, in a way that has nothing to do with the advantages of Penn's towering physique and booming voicebox.

You know, sometimes the tempo of Teller's speech (probably _andante_) is too slow for the rapid thoughts forming and re-forming in his own rock 'n' roll addled brain rhythm. But the smaller man is so infuriatingly logical and clear in conveying his ideas that it is hard to refute.

And usually Penn comes around to see that they are mostly pretty damn good ideas too.

Whatever Teller says, they will do it. Penn will do it.

**Author's Note:**

> Teller is universally adorable through the decades, defiant of age and conventional attractiveness. Current Penn is lovely and mellow, like a grand uncle who knows he is funny.
> 
> I hope I get to talk to P&T for like 2 minutes someday!


End file.
